


Hobbit Hospitality

by TastesLikeCream



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bathtub Sex, Beards (Facial Hair), Belly Kink, Biting, Body Worship, Choking, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Finger Sucking, Hand & Finger Kink, In Public, Kink Exploration, Kink Meme, M/M, Massage, Master/Pet, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Scratching, Shameless Smut, Tongue Piercings, Voice Kink, Watersports
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 11:39:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 7,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4136070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TastesLikeCream/pseuds/TastesLikeCream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of being a hobbit is seeing to all their guests needs, including the sexual needs they might have. Bilbo does not really get the chance what with the unexpected amount of guests that nearly destroy his house and the less than hospitable conditions. </p><p>But then the company stays in Rivendell and he has a chance to right his wrongs..</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WhatButAVillain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatButAVillain/gifts).



> Fill for The Hobbit Kink Meme: I had this weird dream that a part of hobbit hospitality is seeing to ALL their guests needs, even sexual. Bilbo was so upset he didn't offer his services to the dwarves. After seeing Rivendell, he is thinking about the differences between races and what is accepted as a part of hospitality. He seems distracted and when someone asks, he admits he feels bad for not offering.
> 
> Dwarves are very repressed about sex. They don't use their mouths in sex-play and it's all very vanilla. Bilbo goes through the dwarves in order of hierarchy and importance shocking them with blowjobs and other kinks.
> 
> Oh, also, the host isn't allowed to come until the highest ranking guest decides that they have been serviced adequately so he ends up using a cock-ring he brought along.
> 
> Bonus: He services families together for the most part.  
> Bonus: Bilbo deciding Balin has a Daddy kink which results in him calling Dwalin Uncle. They all really like that.  
> Bonus: Bilbo enjoys rape roleplay and the dwarves are the only ones that have ever adequately hurt him during.  
> Bonus: He ends up teaching all of them about BDSM and just expanding their horizons.
> 
> tl;dr Bilbo, to make up for his oversight in not offering sex to the dwarves as dictated by the rules of Shire hospitality services the entire company during the trip and spices up their very vanilla views of sex.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo arranges to fix his poor host skills.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Hobbit' nor am I profiting off this.

Bilbo feels guilty about it at first. It’s the most important part of being a hobbit host after all. He tries to remind himself that it really was not his fault because he was overwhelmed with guests that (literally) nearly tore his poor smial apart. It’s more Gandalf’s fault. He tries then to find opportunities on the road but finds that conditions are less than welcoming. The ground is too rocky, too wet, and too cold or everything is far too hot and he cannot imagine adding sweat to the lesson in hobbit hospitality. And he doesn’t much like the smell of pony either. 

His opportunity comes through when they reach Rivendell. He notes several elves eyes light up at the sight of a hobbit and he would be lying if he said he did not give them a thorough lesson. It’s partly how he convinces the dark haired one who greeted them to gather him some items he deems necessary. Lindir is more than willing to comply with Bilbo as his fingers scissor him open. He promises through keening whines and head shakes that yes he will give them to Bilbo, all of them. And Bilbo almost stops the torture. Almost. He adds a little tongue because Lindir seems like a squealer more than a screamer. And it turns out that he is right. 

With his items gathered and a room reserved just for the activities he musters up his courage to tell the dwarves. He takes special care to prepare himself, to wash and bathe and set his curls right. His outfit is picked out carefully, inspected for any traces of troll snot before he goes to their pavilion. 

The younger dwarves look anxious, the older ones between concern and just plain disinterest. Thorin and Dwalin watch him with scrutinizing gazes, lips turned down into scowls. 

“Everything okay Bilbo? Ye’ve seemed distracted these past couple days. Thought being around some flouncy elves might brighten your spirits.” Bofur’s tone is friendlier than teasing, laughing loudly and smiling. 

“I have been a terrible host to you all. It’s that blasted wizards fault and for that, I am terribly sorry. I did not see your needs as I should have. You see a part of being a hobbit host is showing the best hospitality we can. And we do that by taking care of our guests every need, including well that is. I laid out an elf or two in my days and a couple hobbit lasses and lads in the hay struggled to remember their names after I was finished.” A heavy silence settles over the pavilion and he suddenly catches himself being gawked from all angles, even Thorin’s eyes are wide and his mouth flapping wordlessly. 

“Do dwarves not do that then?” Bilbo suddenly feels like a tweenager again at his first ever lesson. 

“Ah, no…No we don’t do things like…What ye’re suggesting.” Bofur finally says and clears his throat roughly. 

“Oh. Well, I understand, of course, cultural differences.” This has Kili jumping up, cheeks flushed red. 

“It would be a great offense to your culture did we not accept.” Behind him Fili nods, eyes dark. 

“And we accept, gladly.”


	2. Bifur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The debauching begins with Bifur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Hobbit' nor am I profiting off this. 
> 
> Use of nipple clamps and consensual scratching and biting in this chapter.

“How does this work exactly? Do we all have a going at once? Not that I object,” Nori hums, glancing up and down at Bilbo. “But I've got a tendency to be jealous; not one to share.”

“I service families together. Should anyone at any time become uncomfortable with something they have the right to say so and step out. Or the play can be ceased immediately. Nothing that goes on behind the doors has to be discussed. The oldest or highest ranking member of a family goes first and then,” he grins at Nori, wiggling his eyebrows. “I debauch the rest of you one by one.”

The throaty hum Nori gives, coupled with the shifts and blushes from his companions is all the go-ahead that Bilbo needs to turn towards the Ur family.

“Come with me now. Remember play can be stopped at any time or someone may step out should they feel the need.”

Bofur grins like it’s his birthday and Bilbo has just handed him his very own birthday cake; Bombur blushes to the roots of his balding head and Bifur clasps their hands together, talking rapidly and motioning for Bilbo to lead the way.

“And we let the debauching begin.” Bilbo grins, leading them to his bedroom.

The bedroom is larger than the other ones of Rivendell, according to Lindir at least. The bed, while high for hobbits and dwarves is comfortable and the sheets plenty soft with the headboard positioned to smack against the wall as requested by Bilbo. In the middle of the room is a small table. Lined up on the table are a variety of lotions, small metal and leather rings, clamps, length of cloth and a wooden box which he runs his hand over fondly.

Behind him Bofur and Bombur have seated themselves comfortably in the sitting chairs though the nervousness shows. Bofur has stuck his fingers into his mouth and chews, Bombur’s thumbs twiddling over his large stomach. Bifur has already started to strip off his clothes without any prompting and is moving towards his smalls with an excited gleam in his eyes whenever Bilbo jumps on him.

It is no small feat considering the sturdiness of the piebald dwarf and the exclamations from Bofur and Bombur. Bilbo proves to be strong enough however to knock him back onto the bed. He grins at Bifur, feeling an excited stirring in his stomach as he puts his fingers against the dwarf’s neck and drags them downwards. In his wake, he leaves bright pink lines and Bifur’s head falls back with a purr. He lets his fingers linger, curling his toes at the pulsing in his neck. Bifur is still purring though as he removes his smalls at a much more frenzied pace.

Bilbo stares at the base of his neck, watching as bit by bit of his chest is revealed. Covering his chest are tightly curled black and gray hairs, thick as his beard and just as tangled. With his chest revealed Bifur grows more confident, grabbing at Bilbo’s shirt and tugging with loud grunts of Khuzdul. He hushes the grunts with two hands planted at the base of Bifur’s neck. The piebald dwarf stares at him and gulps a breath of air as Bilbo once more drags his nails down and this time through his chest hair; catching and snagging on the tangles and knots there. Beneath him Bifur groans, his hips thrusting upward.

Slowing his pace Bilbo sighs, smiling at the twisted expression of Bifur whose head lolls back and forth.

“Bofur could you please bring me those clamps?” Bilbo grins at the stumbling footsteps, the rough throat clearing.

Bofur brings him the clamps with reddened cheeks and an erection straining in his trousers. Bilbo drops them onto the bed and turns back to Bifur, brushing his hands across his forehead which is covered with a thin sheen of sweat. His eyes are half-lidded and his mouth open in harsh pants.

“I’m going to put these clamps on your nipples. Should you want me to remove them at any time just squeeze my arms twice,” he holds them up. “As for me, scratch and be as rough as you wish. I haven’t had some roughness in a while.”

He waits for the go-ahead on the clamps; a nod from Bifur and then he is petting his chest hair, combing and searching for his nipples. Bilbo brushes his fingers over the peaked nipples and then peels his borrowed tunic off; grateful he remembered to trade his button shirt for this. The clamps are held up again and he waits for the nod. Putting them on, Bilbo expects him to thrust upwards, to toss his head left and right.

The bite is not what he expects. Bifur does toss his head right and promptly sinks his teeth into Bilbo’s wrist. From their chairs, Bofur and Bombur let out hisses of warning that are lost in Bilbo’s moan. Grinding down into Bifur, he wriggles his fingers and curls his toes at the sensation. His bite is rough and harsh; more animalistic than he expects. Using his free arm Bilbo drags his nails down the side of his neck and through his chest hair once more.

“Mahal help us,” Bofur murmurs from his spot, wide-eyed. “Bite him back?”

“Oh, he’ll be bitten. Don’t you worry about that. Right now, this is his moment.”

Bilbo’s scratches turn into pettings, circling the space between his nipples while Bifur’s biting turns into a gnawing, into a sucking with just his lips. He pulls off Bilbo’s wrist with a loud pop, staring proudly at the teeth marks left behind. His tongue darts out; tracing the contours of his teeth marks and looking from them to Bilbo.

“It’s okay, you can lick all you want,” he soothes, continuing his circling. “I’ll be sure to get plenty in.”

Bifur’s head falls back with a groan and then he returns to his sucking, lips wrapped around his wrist. Bilbo sits back against Bifur’s stomach, careful not to settle all his weight onto the dwarf as he continues his sucking.

The room settles into mostly silence of Bofur and Bombur shifting and the obscene sounds of Bifur’s suckling until finally, he pulls off. Grinning, Bilbo lifts his fingers and watches with delight curling in his belly as Bifur places his fingers on his nipples, thumbs poised to scratch.

“Oh you have long nails, how nice,” Bilbo moans. “Very nice.”

Bifur scratches similar to how he bites; rough and sharp. He does not stick in one place but moves back and forth: from Bilbo’s brown nipples to his waist where he sits up hard enough to nearly buck him off and dives to bite at his waist; leaving pink scratch marks and teeth marks in their wakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Bofur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur receives his first taste of hobbit hospitality and learns some of their traditions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags have been updated.

Bifur’s orgasm is marked by animalistic grunts and thrusts which nearly toss Bilbo off him. The hobbit lets out a startled cry and then laughs, actually laughs - something which Bofur startles at. There is pure delight in the smaller creature’s eyes as he wraps a hand around the back of Bifur’s neck, grinding down into his bucking hips. Besides Bofur, Bombur swallows and rubs his palms across his trousers. 

“Is he...Bifur ye all right there?” Bofur calls as the grunts die down. 

Replacing the grunts is harsh pants and sighs; marked by flicks of Bifur’s tongue against Bilbo’s bruising neck and collarbone. The hobbit allows it for a moment and then slowly backs off Bifur; shushing him as he whines. 

“Do not fear,” Bilbo says, stroking his cheek. “There will be time for play later but you need to rest. I do not wish to overwhelm you.” 

Bifur stares at him, expression still dazed and then nods. With a quick and rather rough looking stroke of Bilbo’s cheek, he struts towards Bofur and Bombur. Bilbo watches it silent, expression proud. Bofur curls his toes in his boots and glances at Bombur whose stomach wobbles from the force of his shaking legs. Bofur stares at Bilbo now bite marked and bruising – all peaked nipples, pudgy belly and the occasional spattering of freckles. 

“It’s my turn then?” Bofur smiles albeit wobbly. 

“If you’re prepared.” Bilbo shrugs. “Are you?” 

He glances at Bifur - shoulders slumped and lazy grin spreading across his face. With each passing moment his posture seems to grow more and more relaxed. In a moment his cousin will be splayed across the floor like some dropped doll and Bofur’s stomach curls at the thought. Mahal, he wants to feel that way. He looks back at Bilbo, still waiting and nods.

Bilbo crawls to the edge of the bed and pats it. Gone is the proper host from moments ago and the Bag End hobbit host is back. Bofur sits down beside him with a smile, curling hesitant fingers around his pudgy waist. 

“Yer much nicer without the troll snot,” Bofur teases. “Tell me - do I get to play with the doilies?” 

“You wouldn't know what to do with a doily if you were handed one. I’ve different plans for you.” 

Bilbo reaches for Bofur’s hand, still curled around his waist. He brings it to rest between them, eyes focused on Bofur’s. With his free hand Bilbo poises his fingers at the top of Bofur’s wrist and runs them over the fabric of his gloves. He traces down to Bofur’s nails and starts again at his wrist; running this time only down four of his fingers.

The process continues until Bilbo is peeling the glove off Bofur’s hand. By now Bofur has crossed his ankles in anticipation and chews on the inside of his cheek. 

“Would you talk?” Bilbo turns his hand over. “I quite enjoy your voice.” 

Bofur swallows thickly; Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Bilbo’s fingertips have callouses whether from this journey or the Shire he doesn’t know. Bilbo stares at him, still waiting and still stroking. 

“Where did ye get these callouses?” 

“I used to assist my gardener Hamfast.” 

“Did you ever offer him some of your hospitality?” 

Bilbo chuckles, bowing his head to meet Bofur’s palm. His tongue flicks out and for a moment Bofur swears that he can see a flicker. And then Bilbo is dragging his tongue across his palm and up his middle finger. 

It dips between the lines and ridges of his palm and fingers; the glittering jewel catching in-between the fingers. Bofur watches the jewel; bright green and sharp as it again dips in and out from between his fingers. 

“I didn’t know hobbits did that,” Bofur stutters. “Is that a tradition?” 

“Whenever we perform our first hospitality party, we receive a marking – for where we’re most talented.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has been a long time since I updated. School, applying to a program, health problems and just general life got in the way.
> 
> It has been a long time since I wrote any super long chapters for any stories. Also, writing 1,000 plus words of smut doesn't exactly work for me. 
> 
> So, I apologize if these seem 'short' but I prefer to write what feels best to me. And enjoy that than force something that feels rushed and awful and cluttered.


	4. Bombur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bombur is a hobbit's dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Hobbit' nor am I profiting off this. 
> 
> Hello, everyone, I apologize for being so inactive. Everything is going well, but I became too busy for working on many things. I am not very active on this account anymore, but plan to finish this over Christmas break and have added my new account to this story.

Bofur stumbles away, dazed and seemingly unbothered by his now ruined pants. Bilbo chuckles, shaking his head as Bombur begins to shuffle over. A hideous bite mark blooms on his collar bone, bright pink and swelling around the edges. 

“Are you nervous?” Bilbo asks, wrapping sure fingers around his plump wrist, “I assure you there is no need. Were you able to observe any of the Shire’s residents?” 

“We arrived late; everyone appeared to be inside.” 

Bilbo hums, nods encouragingly as he shuffles closer and closer. Finally, he lines up their stomachs, rocking his hips back and forth. Bombur shuffles, swallowing thickly as his erection rubs on his shirt. 

“Remove your shirt and remain standing before me,” Bilbo watches him fumble for a moment, “Please take your time.” 

Even with the reassurance, his fingers are awkward and fumbling under the familiar chain of his beard. Bilbo is patient, smiling even as he begins peeling his shirt off. Not quite pale, his skin is rosy. Fine red hairs curl over his stomach, disappearing down into his trousers. The skin of his waist hangs over his pants, silvery pink lines marking the skin and dipping into his hips. 

“Is touching acceptable?” Bilbo asks, holding a hand out, waiting until he nods. The touch is light across the underside of his stomach. It tickles, itches even as his fingers swirl in his hair. Bombur shuffles, spreading his feet apart as he slides a hand under the hang of his stomach. The light, ticklish touch becomes a squeeze as he rolls the skin between his thumb and forefinger. 

Bombur wheezes, toes curling. Already rosy, his stomach is turning red as Bilbo moves, alternating between tickling and pinching. Finally, he comes to rest at the peak of his stomach, thumbs rubbing small circles. 

“You are a hobbit’s dream.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize again, everyone, but I plan to finish this before January 17th. 
> 
> Co-author is simply my new account. Thank you so much for any comments, kudos, and may everyone have a lovely holiday!


	5. Dori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo waits, searching his face. Flexing his toes, he can see the bones shifting under his skin. Lifting his chin, Dori crosses the short distance to the waiting chair, pulling his trousers down in one clean movement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is different from what I originally planned, but like it nonetheless.

Dori contemplates resetting his braids once more. The sudden quiet is almost startling. True, everything is muffled, but they can still hear the occasional encouragement, laugh or murmur. It suddenly drops into silence, even as the Ur family stumbles out. 

Most of their visible skin is flushed pink. Pure elation, Dori thinks as he glances over their faces. He turns, doing a quick check of Nori and Ori.

"Be sure to fix your braids, Ori. Both of you remember manners." 

-

Bilbo smiles as he ushers them in. Dori nods curtly, glancing about the room uncertainly. Bilbo watches him, still smiling, but coolly assessing. The room is quiet except for the sounds of settling. 

"Lean over that chair. Pull your trousers down to your knees." 

Bilbo waits, searching his face. Flexing his toes, he can see the bones shifting under his skin. Lifting his chin, Dori crosses the short distance to the waiting chair, pulling his trousers down in one clean movement.

"Are you comfortable?" Bilbo asks, suddenly close to his back. Warm hands stroke across the jut of his spine, bumping over the protrusions. 

Dori curls his toes, pressing his chin harder on the cushion. Bilbo continues watching him, toes curing and uncurling against the floor. He nods, stepping back. 

"Spread your legs."

He shifts his thighs apart, listening to the soft shuffle of feet. Palms smooth up the back of his thighs, coming to brush the underside of his buttocks. 

Bilbo drags his nails up then down, scratching and digging. Dori huffs, hips twitching. It throbs and stings. 

"Wait a moment." He says, pulling away. Dori grits his teeth, rubbing against the chair, searching for friction. "Hold still. This might feel a bit unusual."

A slick thumb presses against him, and he can practically feel the smugness beginning to roll off Bilbo. The slide of his thumb into his body is slow, slick and a relentless burning. He twists around, rubbing and pulling out. The next push is drier, a better friction than rubbing on the chair. Dori groans, flushing as his thumb presses. 

“This is more about calming, you,” he murmurs, “Then we begin proper stimulation.” 

Dori shudders, throat suddenly thick as he calls for more oil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love comments. 
> 
> <3


	6. Nori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nori is collared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beginnings of/Light pet play and very minor choking in the end. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Hobbit' nor am I profiting off this.

Outside of this bedroom, Nori moves with all the skill and grace of a predator. In here, he paces and bristles, searching for a quick escape should he desire one. Bilbo spots strategically placed bulges under his clothing; souvenirs and keepsakes from their hosts. His nostrils flare. His jaw clenches as he circles the room once again. His brothers shift nervously, clearing their throats, though neither moves. 

Bilbo ignores his pacing and moves for the table set in the middle of the room. The wooden box sits patiently. He pauses, stroking it fondly once before he opens it. The collar is a rich, deep violet, woven from fine cloth by expert hands. Bilbo lifts the collar, tilting it until the light catches it. The dwarves mumble audibly as it begins to glint and glitter. Delicate gems line the collar, though none flashy or gaudy. A pendant dangle from the middle of the collar and a buckle in the back. Next comes a long coil of rope, the same violet with a small hook. 

Nori ceases his pacing in exchange for slinking towards the table. The predator is back – curious, but cautious. 

“These gifts were crafted for my mother by Rivendell elves, which were eventually given to me,” Bilbo gestures towards his neck. “Have you ever been collared?” 

“Fancy gift,” he murmurs, lifting his beard, “Does being arrested count?” 

Bilbo smirks, but otherwise maintains his composure, “Continue holding your beard until I have the collar on.” 

The collar is smooth, better than any of his pocketed keepsakes and souvenirs. Bilbo makes quick work of the buckle, hemming and hawing until he decides it sits just right. 

“Do not fight me,” he warns, clipping the leash, tugging, “Now get onto your knees.” 

The predator snorts and curls his lip, but does as he’s told. Orders are nothing new, it seems. Giving snark is nothing new either. Bilbo presses a heel firmly into his calf until he squirms. 

“Crawl forward five steps now.” Bilbo removes his foot as he obeys. Nori crawls forward two steps before stopping and attempting to draw his legs to his chest. A swift kick to the back of his knee startles him, though he drops his legs, splaying them wider. 

“Did you ever crawl like this?” 

Bilbo jerks the leash, smirking as he inhales sharply. A hard-enough jerk will pull him completely back, though he doubts Nori would get into a submissive position. He jerks the leash again, softer this time, eliciting a low moan. 

“Crawl until I tell you to stop.” 

This time Nori jerks the leash in his rush forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I deeply apologize for my lengthy absence: I was diagnosed with depression, but have found an anti-depressant which is working and am not taking any summer classes. I have a weekly alarm set on my phone for this FanFiction. 
> 
> I am quite proud of this returning chapter!


	7. Ori

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo cleans Ori's fingers for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I neither own 'The Hobbit' nor am I profiting off this. 
> 
> I struggled with this one, but I like the end results.

Bilbo stares at Ori’s hands, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The gloves are dirty from their travels, but washing them now would be a pain. Besides, he suspects removing them from the dwarf would be like removing a security blanket from a fauntling. Ori bites down on his lower lip again, leaving another teeth indent; sweat is beginning to dot on his brow. Bilbo slips their fingers together, smiling gently as he startles. 

“Nerves are to be expected,” he whispers, stroking a thumb over his knuckles, “I experienced a terrible case of knee wobbles during my first time. Is there anything I can do to enhance your comfort?” 

Ori stares at their hands. Bilbo has soft hands – the callouses are few, from hours in the garden; free of ink stains. The squeeze to his wrist startles him, though his smile remains genuine. 

Bilbo lifts their hands towards his mouth, arching his eyebrows. Ori feels his palms begin to tingle and sweat beneath the sudden stifling fabric of his gloves. He has ink and week’s worth of dirt underneath his nails. He should’ve washed up before dinner or even after dinner. He waits – staring with his eyebrows creeping further and further towards his hairline. This close, Ori can see the soft layer of peach fuzz over his lip. His mouth is pink and clean. 

He nods until the beads in his beard clink together. Without hesitation, without pause, Bilbo slips his fingers into his mouth. The heat is immediate and nearly overwhelming. His tongue flicks across a fingernail, crawling underneath to clean. Bilbo grunts, dragging his tongue across the tops of his fingers. The flavors: bitter ink; grit and musk of dirt and the metallic bite of blood. 

“This is quite comfortable,” he manages, “This is comfortable.” 

Bilbo slurps harder in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the schedule change, but a family vacation and depression made writing impossible. Should everything go smoothly, I'll be updating again on Wednesday.


	8. Óin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo assists Óin in relieving some aches and pains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I neither own 'The Hobbit' nor am I profiting off this.

"Do you have any lingering aches or pains? I know various treatments including hot baths with oils which include extra services. I am capable of massages. Have you ever experienced the pleasure of someone walking on your back?” 

Óin grunts, twisting his ear horn around and looking to his brother for help. Glóin huffs, but signs for him. He watches in silence, waiting for their decision as they continue signing. Finally, the brothers nod, clapping each other on the shoulders. 

“I have aches and pains everywhere, lad. It comes with being a healer and having to fight injured guards, miners and helping dams through birth. I tried all my tonics and mixes, but nothing fixes my back aches.” 

Bilbo gestures towards the bed. “Even this is merely a temporary fix, but provides relief. Please undress.” 

Óin sets his ear horn aside and begins peeling his clothing off. Years of being a healer, fighting with rebellious patients have kept him sturdy despite his age. A thick blanket of gray hair spreads over his chest and down his stomach, disappearing into his trousers. Climbing onto the bed requires little assistance save from the blankets which he tugs on until he flops into the middle, grunting with satisfaction. Glóin moves into his brother’s sight, signing for him as Bilbo scans the table. 

He picks up a bottle, holding it up for both dwarves to see. “I like to begin with oil. This might feel a bit cold at first.” 

Bilbo climbs atop the bed, smoothing the wrinkles left behind by Óin. Straddling his hips, he pours a small amount of oil into his palm, rubbing them together. 

Bilbo presses down on layers of knots and tension. He hisses, squaring his shoulders with the first touch. 

“Be calm,” he murmurs, rubbing his hands outward, “We will go slowly.” 

Clenching his fists, he rolls his knuckles over his spine. Óin huffs, turning his face into the covers as he shudders. The pops are audible as he presses down. He pushes his wrists together, pressing down on his spine again.

“Oh, lad,” he grunts, “Would you do that again? I’ve missed that feeling.” 

He rocks his hips forward as he slides his hands upward. Óin squirms beneath him, rocking his hips into the bed. If he squints, he can see a pink flush beginning underneath his beard.

“I will do anything you request.” 

He presses down.


	9. Glóin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo teaches about beard massages.

Óin sinks into the steaming water with a loud and lengthy groan. His head lolls back and forth until he finds his brother hovering near the edge of the tub. He grunts, nodding toward Bilbo drying his oil slicked feet. 

“Our burglar has magical feet,” he mumbles. “I dare say he could soothe Smaug into returning Erebor.” 

Bilbo smiles politely albeit tightly. The corners of his mouth tighten for a second, though it quickly returns to calm and open. 

“Your brother is a shameless flatterer,” he says, dropping his head, “I can provide oils with this service or merely use my hands, should you be willing to participate. Have you ever experienced a beard massage?” 

Glóin flushes a deep purple and stutters out an answer. To his credit, Bilbo handles the shock in stride, waiting patiently until he manages to draw in a breath. 

“I lack the experience my mother had, but I am quite capable. You might take this back to your wife?” 

Bilbo wanders the bathroom, searching for any remains of his oily footprints as the brothers furiously sign to one another. For a moment, the room goes quiet except for Óin’s hands slapping the water. Finally, Glóin clears his throat, scratching his head. 

“I can use this with my wife?”

-

His fingers are dry and prickling with callouses. He starts right below his lips and strokes slowly down to his stomach. Bilbo snares his fingers in his beard – marveling over the thick, wiry texture. 

Spreading his fingers apart is a careful process. His fingers catch on missed knots and tangles. Glóin sighs with each knot, each tangle he manages to comb out. This time, when he reaches his stomach, Bilbo pulls his hand away. Pieces of hair curl around his fingers and wrist. 

“I retrieve more hairs with oil,” he says, plucking one free and placing it into his mouth. “Though I've never tasted a dwarf until now.” 

“I want oil.”


	10. Balin & Dwalin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Balin and Dwalin learn a new means of marking.

Balin shifts his weight from one foot to the other. It does little to relieve the rising desperation in his bladder. Departing for the bathroom now seems like an insult to Bilbo. He might as well say: I appreciate the teaching offer, laddie, but I have more desperate urges right now than education.

Dwalin’s impatience comes from an entirely different source. 

The bedroom is strange. Bilbo can be heard giggling in the bathroom. Wine is not his preferred drink, especially from elves. 

“Patience,” he murmurs. “We should give him the appropriate time to prepare.” 

“How much time does he need?”

Bilbo’s giggling rises higher and higher as the door creaks open. His cheeks are flushed a healthy pink. His eyes gleam mischievously. It’s a look the brothers are accustomed to seeing in Nori and the princes. 

It does not belong on Bilbo Baggins. The excited, confident skip does not belong on Bilbo Baggins. 

He wraps himself around Balin like a thirsty vine, squeezing until the dwarf gasps. His bladder tingles a warning. Balin shifts his weight, but does not pull away. 

“How’re you enjoying Rivendell, papa?” He asks before turning to Dwalin, “I know you’re ready to leave, uncle.” 

The brothers exchange a look. The others had talked and shared about their experiences. No one had been called papa or uncle. 

Bilbo continues holding onto his waist, though he loosens his grip ever so slightly. His expression is open and calm. 

Balin can see pink beginning to creep up his brother's neck and settling beneath his beard. He looks everywhere else except for Bilbo. 

“I wish the circumstances were different, laddie,” he says, patting his elbow, “I understand this place has special memories for you.”

He nods vigorously and squeezes tightly. For a moment, his head swims as the tingle becomes a burning. Shifting his weight right now is impossible. His breaths come out in short, quick bursts until the burn recedes into the tingle. 

“It does,” he cries. “I promise to tell you everything after.”

Bilbo drops his arms and turns his attention onto Dwalin. He cannot fit his arms around his waist as easily as he did Balin. 

Dwalin is thicker. There is less pudge and more stone thick muscle earned through training. A squeeze does not warrant a weight shift. It barely earns him a tingle. 

“You’re changing colors,” he declares, swaying himself back and forth. “Is that from the wine, uncle?”

“Did you get into more wine, laddie?”

He arches his bushy eyebrows, eliciting a blush from Bilbo. His giggle is more guilty than excited this time. 

“I helped myself between sessions,” he admits. “I quite like their wine.” 

“You’re not the only one.”

Their focus shifts onto Balin. The tingling has moved into an endless burning. It moves into his abdomen and down his legs. Shifting his weight no longer works. Short, quick breaths are no longer helping. 

Bilbo twists himself until he can stare up at Dwalin. Finally, the dwarf kneels down, nodding as he whispers into his ear. 

Dwalin hoists him up and carries him over to the bed. 

“Lad has a request for us,” he announces. “We’re to relieve ourselves here.”

Balin flushes scarlet. Relieving himself on another seems humiliating, though this is for trying and exploring. He could even record it once they reach Erebor for others. 

Besides, the burning has become unbearable. 

Dwalin helps him onto the bed where both make quick work of their trousers. Bilbo opens his mouth and spreads his arms and legs wide as they begin to urinate. 

Dwalin unleashes a guttural and possessive sound as he stains the bedding and marks Bilbo. His brow puckers furiously. Now, he wishes he had more wine. Regardless, he intends on rolling him in the ruined sheets. He will be marked everywhere. 

Balin sighs as the burn recedes into a tingle into a tickle. The bed is becoming rank. Bilbo is losing the musk of sweat and others come for the stink of urine. 

They should’ve had more wine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday!


	11. Fili

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo and Fili share a bath together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own 'The Hobbit' nor am I profiting from this.

Fili resists the urge to cover his mouth and nose against the overwhelming, pungent stench of urine coating the room. Bilbo, either accustomed or unbothered by the stink, merely smiles and links their fingers together. His hands are finally beginning to adjust to the traveling conditions with the formation of callouses and cracking skin. His calloused thumb bumps and drags over his knuckles. 

“I suppose not everyone enjoys the smell,” he laughs then lowers his voice. “Look at our poor hosts.”

Elves scamper around them with now ruined bedding: hair, oil, and urine. No one even attempts hiding their disgust. Someone gags while others groan as their fingers come too close to touch a stain. Lindir shushes the worst complaints with a murmur and stony scowl, but even he curls his nose in disgust. 

“I apologize for the mess,” Bilbo says. “I appreciate everything our gracious hosts have done. I promise to reward everyone for their demanding work.” 

Lindir gives him a tight smile, “We’ve prepared a bath for you. Would you like an escort?” 

Bilbo dismisses the offer with a wave of his hand, “Come, Fili, I promise these baths are better than the fountains.” 

Bilbo tugs him toward the adjoining bathroom before he can argue. Everything is smooth stone in varying colors. Deep brown bleeds into black with bright green veins. Should he squint, he can see white specks dotting the otherwise dark gray bathtub. Bottles and bars of soap line the edge of the bathtub. 

“A fountain is fun,” he says. “A hot bath is much better, though.” 

Bilbo turns and rests his hands on his chest, raising his eyebrows in question. His heart jumps from thumping into a stutter. Bofur and Ori are liars – this isn’t like being touched by a healer. A healer doesn’t ask for permission before undressing them. A healer asks them to disrobe.  


Bilbo’s still waiting for the answer. His eyebrows are dropping into something sympathetic, something worried. His heart jumps from the stutter into the persistent thumping. His throat and tongue are suddenly too thick to speak. Even his nod feels too abrupt, too rushed for the patient Bilbo. 

His fingers are quick albeit careful in pulling and twisting strings. Fili expects him to step away with each piece of clothing and fold them into a neat, tight square. Nothing is folded but is dropped and allowed to puddle on the floor. 

A healer has never hummed appreciatively over the muscles in his arms and chests. A healer has never dragged their fingers through his chest hair. His heart leaps back and forth between stuttering and thumping beneath Bilbo’s fingers. Comforting him or shushing the sound would be merciful, but he gets neither. Bilbo smiles as the stutter arches into a thumping only to dip back into the nervous stutter. 

Even under the heavy, sticky, and wet air, losing his clothing elicits shivers. Bilbo grabs his hands, guiding them to the buttons on his trousers. His invitation is clear and silent: we can do this together. Fili inhales sharply and wills his fingers not to take as he grabs the first button. He suddenly regrets mocking them with his brother. He suddenly regrets calling them fancy trousers. 

Bilbo maintains a patient smile even he fumbles with the buttons. Why couldn’t he have strings like everyone else? Why did he have to bring the fancy trousers along? Do this, he murmurs and tugs the strings. No, bend your finger like this – twist your wrist like that. There, you have it. 

His smile transforms again into what he imagines – believes is admiration. Yes, other dwarves have always referred to him as attractive or decent looking. Their compliments hardly seem genuine when everyone knows his status, though. Bilbo must know by now. Neither he nor Gandalf has discussed royalty hiding in the Shire. Surely, his admiration is genuine then. 

His fingers are warm, his footsteps over the smooth stone certain. Bilbo sits on the edge and slides into the water without so much as a splash. He offers a slick palm to help him into the tub. 

“Am I allowed to splash in here?” Fili asks, sliding his hand over the now wet callouses and cracks. 

“I might never be invited back,” he laughs. “I know a far more fun game, though and splashing will happen.” 

Fili grips his wet hand and slides into the water. The water is far smoother, warmer than the fountain and has a sharp herbal smell. Bilbo raises bottles to his nose, mumbling under his breath as he pushes one aside and pulls a different one closer. His chosen jar overflows with a honey-colored liquid. Plump drops make a slow dribble over the rim and down the even edges onto the bathtubs edges. Bilbo swirls a finger around the rim and gathers the plump drops that have yet to begin the slow dribble. Pushing his hand into the jar causes the already overflowing liquids to coat the rim and even edges. 

Honey colored liquid soaks his fingers and drizzles across the bathtub edge and jar. Bilbo turns, wiggling his sticky fingers and motioning towards the edge of the bathtub. 

“Put your upper-half on the edge,” he instructs. “Once you find a comfortable position, reach behind yourself and spread yourself open.” 

Fili searches his face but can find only patience and that same possible admiration. He wades through the still warm water and leans against the sticky edge. Finding a comfortable position for his work is far more difficult, but he manages to find something which allows him to place most of his weight on the edge versus his knees. 

Gripping his water slicked skin proves difficult, but he manages to grasp and peel them apart as Bilbo instructs him. 

“This’ll be cold,” he warns. “I promise it gets better, though.” 

His warning does little to prepare him. Fili gasps and thrusts his chest harder against the edge. His heart is no longer stuttering or thumping. His heart leaps around and slams into bone, muscle, and organ without apology. 

Bilbo remains still. His dripping fingers are beginning to stain the water. 

“Is this normal?” Fili gasps. “Should I feel like this?” 

Bilbo pets his shoulders and the bumps and ridges of his spine. His voice is almost a whisper when he asks, “How’re you feeling?” 

“I keep squeezing you,” he gasps. “I am trying, but cannot make myself stop doing it. Should I feel like this?” 

“You’re feeling normal,” he promises. “You’re going to feel even better.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


	12. Kíli

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kíli learns what happens to showoffs.

Kíli plans somewhere between the elves dropping off more snacks and his brother staggering back with still wet hair and skin. His skin trousers are new, too long, and far too loose, no doubt a gift that Bilbo managed to get from the elves. His traveling companions take a moment, admiring his disheveled appearance, nodding amongst themselves, and whispering before returning to their peaceful silence. Kíli rises, ignoring the tingling running up and down his legs. He doesn’t bother waiting for everyone to direct their attention away from his brother. Kíli begins stretching, grunting with every satisfying crack and pop that he achieves. 

Someone, Nori, he suspects, sighs and mumbles something like ‘show off’ while another snort. Thorin frowns, clearing his throat in preparation for an ‘enough of that behavior’ scolding when the door opens. His stretching earns him a quick, un-impressed glance before Bilbo turns his attention to the barely touched snacks. 

Sighing and snorting become uncertain shifting and throat clearing. Bilbo, either unaware or simply plain hungry for a late snack, continues picking through the snack platter. 

Kíli gives a final stretch for his no longer tingling legs. Everyone is suddenly focusing on their beards, braids, or the blood still under their nails no matter how hard they scrub. Bilbo shoves fruit into his mouth until his cheeks bulge. Juice dribbles down his chin and fingers, though he makes no requests for a napkin. Kíli scans the circle, looking toward his brother only to receive a shrug. 

Bilbo punctuates his now complete snack with a delighted sigh, “Have you finished showing off now?” 

Kíli flushes and clenches his jaw before he can blurt out a defense. Uncomfortable silence and attention shifting become poorly masked laughter disguised as coughing. He manages a weak smile, not the wolfish grin he’d planned on approaching Bilbo with. 

“I wasn’t showing off,” he promises. “Those were just warmup stretches. I have a much better show planned for you.” 

Kíli attempts tacking on a wink, but it only earns him a thin-lipped smile and hum. Bilbo still reaches out and grabs his wrist, tugging him toward the bedroom. His already wobbling confidence dissolves as the door closes behind them, a cruel and final sound. Bilbo drops his wrist and gestures toward the bed. 

A gauzy lavender gown lies spread over the bed. A human woman could either catch the attention of both men and women or appear like a child playing dress up with their mother’s clothing. Despite his best efforts, he cannot imagine a dwarf woman wearing the dress for both practicality and cost. His memories of the smial are comfortable – surely, he could afford a dress like this should he choose to buy one, but it would never suit a hobbit. 

“I’ve made several requests upon arriving, including this dress,” he says. “I fully intend on returning these requests before our departure. A variety is important, especially when introducing someone new to this part of our culture. Seeing as how you enjoy showing off, I believe we should do so. Disrobe and put the dress on. We will then return outside and then you can show off.” 

His thin-lipped smile is gone. His polite humming is gone. Kíli stares down a wolfish smile as he fumbles with buckles and buttons. The wolfish smile remains in place until he strips down to his underclothes. Bilbo clears his throat and holds a hand up. 

“I said disrobe,” he repeats. “Disrobe means remove everything.” 

His wolfish smile is gone. His tone is expectant and sharp. Defiant, Kili lifts his chin and slows in removing his underclothes. His earlier show resumes with slower movements and longer pauses between undoing buttons. 

“I don’t know that purple is my color,” he admits, lifting the dress. “I can try it, though.” 

Its pretty – impractical for a dwarf either male or female, but pretty. Its thin save for the layered fabric on the chest and shoulders. A woman either human or elf could move around comfortably without fear of tripping herself on the hem. It hangs off his shoulders and gapes around his shoulders, exposing the tops of his nipples and threatening to pool around his ankles should he move too quickly. 

The gauzy material tickles his feet and legs. Worse, it settles directly over his cock, providing a constant scratch and tickle, but no satisfaction beyond that. Kíli attempts wiggling back and forth, side to side, but neither provides him with enough friction for relief. 

“You were wrong,” Bilbo says. “Purple is stunning on you. I must ask that you stop wiggling around, though. Save that for the next part.” 

His fingers are warm, the squeeze of his hand reassuring. Kíli holds their linked hands against his chest, willing the dress to stay up as he shuffles slowly towards the door. Everyone takes a moment for gaping, which is better than laughing, but he suspects that Bilbo must give them a look which forbids doing so. Gaping turns into a low whistle and whisper that results in someone being smacked upside their head. Balin flushes pink and then red. His brother shifts, coughing into his fist. 

“I told him,” Bilbo coos and settles onto the ground. “Purple is a stunning color. Now, come over here and sit down on my leg.” 

Sitting requires careful maneuvering, though he finally manages with the proper guidance from Bilbo. His legs are splayed wide with his butt digging into their host's plump thighs. Bilbo presses a hand into his back but gives no further encouragement. Fabric bunches around his waist. His only comfort is the constant scratch and tickle. Everyone shifts and stares at his erection staining the gauzy fabric. 

Bilbo stretches his leg, sighing as he raises his knee, settling it directly against his erection.

Kíli wheezes in desperation and waits for the encouragement, the command. His hand moves up his bare shoulder and down his chest. His nails scrape a nipple and slide through the dusting of black hair. 

“You can begin showing off now,” he decides. “I expect a wonderful show, though.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading.

**Author's Note:**

> What I have planned for our dwarves: 
> 
> Bifur: Nipple clamps, consensual scratching/rough play. 
> 
> Bofur: Voice kink, hand and finger kink
> 
> Bombur: Belly kink, body worship
> 
> Dori: Butt plugs, foot kink, possible foot job. 
> 
> Nori: Sensory deprivator through use of a blindfold and collaring
> 
> Ori: First time blowjobs and being taught just how to give them; hints of dom Bilbo
> 
> Oin: Massage, hand jobs
> 
> Gloin: Hair kink and possible beard bondage
> 
> Balin & Dwalin: Daddy kink and uncle kink. Use of rope, rimming and watersports. 
> 
> Fili: Biting, possible bloodplay.
> 
> Kili: Crossdressing
> 
> Thorin: Spanking and orgasm delay/denial. 
> 
> (I plan to complete this work. Real life just continues beating my ass).


End file.
